


Strike Team: Delta

by DawnieWrites



Series: Clintasha Week on Tumblr [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, SHIELD, They beat up some guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnieWrites/pseuds/DawnieWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2012 Day 4<br/>"Is it just me or are our assignments getting riskier and riskier?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike Team: Delta

She can feel the blood seeping through the fabric of her combat suit, knows that most of it is most likely hers, but she really could care less at this point. She lost her comm.-link somewhere in all of the fighting, but she knows that Clint will be waiting for her to return to the rendezvous point for at least a good six minutes more before he knows to go looking for her. She replaces the magazine in her handgun and dives into a roll from behind one slab of debris to another, letting off four shots and not bothering to check; she knows that she hit her mark.

She's starting to notice a pattern in their missions. She and Clint always get sent on the most difficult assignments, and always together. Their solo missions are challenging as well, but never anything as overbearing as São Paolo, or even Budapest. Fury always handpicks the two of them for the impossible jobs, the jobs that for almost anybody else would be a suicide mission, but for them are almost simple.

She's almost at the rendezvous point and she can feel herself slowing down, feels the blood grow thicker, and knows that she had better get there soon. There's a flash of something bright to her left and she turns just in time to catch sight of an explosive-tipped arrow fly past her and land in the wall of a building that most of the hostiles were standing next to. She doesn't waste any time; she takes the opening that he made for her and disappears into the access tunnel that leads directly to the hotel where their aliases have been staying.

Clint is waiting for her at the basement access door, his recurve already stashed in his briefcase at his feet and the duffel bag with their street clothes slung over one shoulder.

"I already checked us out. Our luggage is being shipped and our extraction is set," he informs her. She nods in acknowledgement, slipping her gun into its holster on her thigh. She winces as she reaches for the duffel bag and Clint notices the blood that is just starting to soak into the side of her uniform.

"Jesus Nat!" the duffel bag hits the floor and Clint grabs her shoulder, spinning her around and forcing her to sit down on the ground in front of him so that he can look at her back. "What the hell happened?"

"Someone got lucky," she replies simply, unzipping her now blood-stained suit and reaching for the duffel bag again. Clint sits down behind her and strips the fabric of her suit down her shoulders and off of her arm, exposing her torso until he finds the source of the bleeding, a deep gash in her back from the middle of her left side cutting diagonally to just above her kidney.

"They almost got really lucky," he comments, pulling the duffel back out of her hands and reaching inside for the first aid kit.

"You blocked their means of communication?" she asks, pulling off the remains of her undershirt before he starts stitching her up.

"EMP arrow on the roof," he assures her.

"How long until the extraction?"

"Twenty minutes; extraction point is ten minutes out of town." They sit in silence until he finishes her stitches and flattens a piece of gauze over his handiwork. "Is it just me or are our assignments getting riskier and riskier?" he mutters wryly. Natasha rolls her eyes and pulls off her boots in order to finish slipping out of her suit, accepting the change of clothes he hands her.

"We're Delta for a reason Clint," she reminds him, pulling on the jeans and button-up shirt he had handed her before turning around to face her partner. "We're the only two crazy enough to even consider accepting these assignments." He smiles at her, stowing both of their uniforms in the now-empty duffel bag.

"Hawkeye to base," he says into his comm.-link, "Strike Team Delta is go for extraction."


End file.
